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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29135259">this, i guess, is to tell you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/merridian/pseuds/merridian'>merridian</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Twosetviolin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Love Confessions, M/M, Unrequited Love, canon compliant to real life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:08:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>941</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29135259</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/merridian/pseuds/merridian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Three kisses does not true love make.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddy Chen/Brett Yang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>this, i guess, is to tell you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from <em>Always in My Head</em> by Coldplay.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>When he’d been a child, Eddy had once claimed he was able to predict the future. He guesses his grades after finals, his music teacher’s erratic availability, the exact timing of broken strings and rainy days and stolen kisses in the orchestra pit. Oftentimes, his predictions are close. Sometimes, he even gets them right. It’s why he’d jumped head first into the idea of TwoSet, after all; stepping off a cliff with nothing but belief in success is easy, and more so with the man he could spend a lifetime with right beside him on the way down.</p><p>So he already knows, in his own way, what will happen next. He already knows how this will end.</p><p>Brett kisses him the first time and then says, “I’m sorry.”</p><p>His heart doesn’t shatter, not yet, not quite. It’s too early for that. It’s five in the morning, the first rays of sunlight just barely peeking above the horizon, a city awakening in the distance: Sydney or Singapore or Brisbane or some other place the sun rises over. But then it doesn’t really matter where they are. You can get your heart broken anywhere.</p><p>Eddy breathes in deep, focuses on the dark shade of Brett’s eyes and not the rising panic within. “What are you apologizing for?”</p><p>“It’s not,” and here, his friend falters, casting his gaze away, “it’s not clicking. For me.”</p><p>Not like that warm Friday evening hunched over scribbled numbers and rubbing elbows sitting side by side, years and years back. Not like that Saturday morning when all the clocks in the orchestra hall stopped just because they caught each other’s eye. Not like that.</p><p>It’s not clicking for Brett. Which is to say: nothing is being <em>felt</em>.</p><p>He gets it, really, he does.</p><p>“We don’t have to do this.”</p><p>“No, just. Just let me try this again,” Brett says, and Eddy allows himself to be pulled closer, but then it’s not really about allowing, nothing at all about choice—it’s gravity and the tides and inevitability, and he’s powerless to resist the lure.</p><p>Brett kisses him the second time and then says, “I can’t.”</p><p>It’s not clear, really, what he supposedly can’t do. Eddy doesn’t ask. “I know. You can’t force it. You can’t force <em>this</em>.” He shakes his head. He knows a thing or two about trying to force things, but that’s all in the past, all tangled up in a two-syllable name he doesn’t want to think about. “That’s not how it works.”</p><p>“I know. I know.” God, but Brett looks so wretched, so miserably determined to prove his own heart wrong that it stalls the hell out of Eddy’s own heartbreak trainwreck. His best friend is trying his best, doing his damnedest to like kissing him, to like being with him this way, to fall in love with him. His damnedest isn’t enough.</p><p>“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” It’s true, even if it hurts to say it.</p><p>“Fuck.” Brett turns away from him, dragging a hand over his face. “<em>Fuck</em>, Eddy.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I just wanted,” Brett mumbles, defeated, and it’s a tone Eddy never wants to hear again in his life, ever. “I <em>wanted</em>.”</p><p>“Yeah.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his pajamas, rallying for warmth he can’t feel inside. “I guess now we know it just wasn’t enough.”</p><p>And maybe it’ll finally sink in that enough is enough. That this is a no-win scenario, and there’s nothing else left to do or say or <em>anything</em>.</p><p>Brett doesn’t say anything for a moment, breathing in and out, timed to the rise and fall of Eddy’s own chest. When he steps forward and makes an invasion into Eddy’s personal space, Eddy lets him. He’s been letting him do whatever the fuck he wants since the start; a botched attempt at falling in love won’t disrupt the status quo.</p><p>Brett kisses him the third time and then says, “I love you.”</p><p>He’s heard those words before. Multiple times, in fact, but the most vivid memory he has is the last night of the Kickstarter campaign. The cadence, the tone, the delivery: they haven’t varied in the slightest. Irrevocably platonic. It means nothing’s changed, despite this last ditch effort. He appreciates it nonetheless.</p><p>“Do you feel any different after saying that?”</p><p>Brett hesitates and then shakes his head. Figures.</p><p>“Okay. Okay.” It’s okay. He feels resignation settle on his shoulders, sifting through his ribs to pool at the base of his spine. Calmness, peace after a wild storm.</p><p>Maybe his divination is still working somehow, because Brett opens his mouth, and at once, Eddy knows what he’s about to say. “I’m s—”</p><p>“No. I don’t wanna hear it again. Please.” Not another word. He doesn’t want the calm to go away, not now or ever, for that matter. “Let’s just <em>be</em>, okay?”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Brett’s eyes are still sad, and the lingering sediment of ache is still cluttering the floor of his chest, and so maybe that’s why he opens his mouth and repeats the same declaration that got them here in the first place: “Hey, Brett. I love you.”</p><p>Brett doesn’t kiss him again. Eddy doesn’t want him to, anyway. Thrice had been more than enough.</p><p>“I know.” Here comes a fragile variation of a smile he will adore for the rest of his days, even if it won’t ever be his to claim. “I love you too, Eddy.”</p><p>That’s fine. It’s enough to summon a smile for his own mouth. “I know.”</p><p>Eddy takes a seat beside Brett on the couch, looks out the window, and for once, he doesn’t try to predict the future.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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